Was Being Happy Such a Terrible Fate?
by Emily31594
Summary: Outlaw Queen oneshots, many from prompts I've received on tumblr, and many but not all dealing with the ending of S3. Chapter 5: Your Majesty
1. Break the Cycle

**Robin sees Regina holding baby Neal and there is longing in his eyes. This doesn't go undetected by his wife. =) Pretty please with fluff and a little angst.**

_This is more on the angst side…sorry! I just feel that fluff isn't really warranted in the scene at the diner, or when Marian's in the room, at least not right away._

She wants to fight it when Snow walks over to her, after she's calmed down from some of the shock, and envelops her in a hug. She wants to ask why Snow didn't leave her infant with her husband, why she's leaving her husband at all; she has her happy ending. Apparently, though, she's too broken tonight to be as biting as she'd like, too much in need of human contact not to surrender to the comfort, not to let a few tears trail down her face.

"Are our families destined to destroy each other, one generation at a time?" she whispers brokenly, pulling back, clearing her throat, trying to pretend she didn't just let that happen. She looks down at the newest member of their twisted family tree, who she fears will become part of the cycle.

"Regina," Snow sighs, and the Queen's hands close into fists as she fights the urge to shake some sense into her step-daughter, to beg her to speak with more anger and less sadness laced with nauseating hope. "No," Snow swears. "We aren't."  
"Why? Eva and Cora…you and me, and Emma, all we've ever done is…compete for happiness. And all it's done is taken something away from each of us that we can never get back."

"We are not destined for that, Regina. You saved us, you saved him," she hugs the baby in her arms close, "you broke the cycle."

Regina bites her lip and shuts her eyes against more tears, and why is it that whenever she tries to love someone it just breaks her heart? It must be her penance for all of the hearts she's taken, the other happy endings she's destroyed in the name of her own. And there's another cycle, in her life, of loving and losing, that started with Daniel, and continued with her father, and Daniel again, and Cora, and Henry, and now Robin and Roland, but she recognizes now that it's always been her fault, her actions that have led to these loses, and it is a cycle nobody can break.

"Here," Snow interrupts, and Regina realizes she's been staring into the distance for some time. And before she knows what's happening, before she can object, Snow's put little Neal in her arms. He gurgles a little, and the instinct from Henry takes over, and she's rocking him in her arms to calm him, her eyes a little teary but the beginnings of a sad smile peeking through. "Hello, little one," she whispers. Who knew the Evil Queen had a soft spot for children. God, why do her memories have to be so persistent? She pushes the phrase away, far, far away, but not far enough for it not to torture her.

"He looks like Henry," she chokes out, and she is too focused on the baby to see it but Snow smiles softly.

"Well he is Henry's uncle."

Regina's lips twitch because it's just so absurd, and fitting for this messed up… family or whatever it is that they are. Neal starts to cry cry, and she begins to bounce him gently to calm him, whispering to him, and it calms her, too. "He's beautiful, Snow," she whispers. She can't help it, though, when her shoulders continue to shake.

_R&R_

Across the room, Robin looks up at the sound of crying. He can't help it; his eyes search for her, and there she is, cradling baby Neal, and all he can see is her profile, but the tear tracks on her cheek couldn't be clearer. Yesterday, he would've pulled her into his arms, told her to relish in the opportunity to hold this baby, to know she deserved it, and the Charmings were so, so thankful to her for protecting them. His heart aches because he knows she won't believe that, knows she'll think it was her price, but he's heard her story and she's paid more than enough.

He remembers her watery eyes and broken voice and heartbreaking smile, I just never thought I'd have this, and for a moment he allows self-hatred for proving her right.

His whole world has come crashing down, and a few months ago he might've said he'd dreamed of something like this, but he has to admit even that isn't true because, for better or worse, his past has made him who he is, and this can't be the answer.

She looks so beautiful, with that baby in her arms, but so broken, and he doesn't know, can't imagine what to do. He's not strong enough to wish he'd never met her.

He hates having to watch other people comfort her, because, he realizes with a start, his arms ache to hold her, to let her cry with her face hidden against his chest because he knows she hates it when other people can see.

Marian looks up from Roland and follows his gaze. "Robin?"

"I…" and what can he say?

Regina looks up then, and their eyes lock, frozen in fear, because it's still there, that undeniable pull between them. He wants to go to her, but he can't, he just can't, and she forces her eyes away from him because she refuses to let him see any more of the weakness she's too hastily laid before him in the past few weeks.

He thinks of her face in front of the fire, of how even happiness makes her sad because she doesn't think she deserves it, and he can see why she believes that she cannot have her happy ending as long as everyone else has theirs, because life's certainly shown her no different. And she may have lost the energy to fight it anymore, but it isn't fair, isn't right that he's helped her move past the darkness, move past all the barriers she's put around her heart, and her reward is this again. More heartbreak.

"Marian, I have to…" he trails off, and he's moving away, until he's a few feet from her, and he isn't even sure what he'd been trying to say. Snow sees him first, and her brow furrows. Regina sees Snow's reaction, and whips her head around.

"Don't," she barks, her eyes set on his, and as always, her attempt to be harsh leaves her sounding broken, the snarl morphed into a half-sob. She hands the baby back to his mother, gently, then whips back toward him violently, and she hates that tears are forming in her eyes again.

He reaches out a hand and she can feel the buzz in the air where his hand and her forearm almost meet.

"Don't touch me."

His hand freezes. Determination sets in, or maybe just the pull he feels to soothe her pain even when he's the cause, and he moves the final few inches to touch her arm. He feels solid warmth for barely a second before a puff of purple smoke clouds his vision.

She's run away from the man with the lion tattoo again, and he cannot blame her.

He glances at Snow, at Marian, feels the eyes of everyone in the diner on him, and wishes he could escape in the blink of an eye, like her, wonders where she's gone. Knows he shouldn't. For what can he do? Marian is back, his Marian, Roland's mother, and he loves her, that is an undeniable part of his being. He looks down at the arm that had been about to grasp hers, feels the ghost of her fingers on his tattoo, destined to be with. He can't handle it, can't think about that, too.

Not today.


	2. In The Forest

**robin/regina forced to work together alone to tackle the next Big Bad (tracking in the forest, stakeout, whatever you want), cue longing, angst and thinking of their days in the Enchanted Forest.**

_This is an angst fest. You've been warned._

"Regina, you're not going alone."

"I'm not?" She challenges, her voice flat and unyielding.

"No, you're not. You're being self-destructive right now."

She rounds on him, her hair whipping behind her. "And why do you suppose that is?" she snarls.

Hurt flits through his eyes, but she can't regret it. She'd needed to say that, and anyway, from where does he think he gets the right to act like he still cares about her?

Her face darkens from frustration to outright contempt when he lifts his bow onto his shoulder, anyway.

"Just…don't get in my way," she bites out, and she hadn't meant to say it exactly like that, but she has, and the words are floating between them with two deafening echoes.

She looks into his stunned face, and he's caught the turn of phrase, too. Of course he has.

His eyes lock with hers. "I wouldn't dream of it," he returns, because he has to.

Her mouth opens. And shuts. This man is the only person she's ever known who could leave her speechless.

Letting him get away with that excuse hasn't brought her anything good, but, as she's proven twice before, she's helpless to turn him away.

So she doesn't.

...

"Stay back," the woman cautions, backing into the tree behind her.

Robin decides to try. "We mean you no harm. You've made it cold here; we just want you to turn it back to spring."

"I can't." Her hands become fists, and her whole body curls in on itself.

"You will." Regina challenges.

"Regina," Robin warns. But he's got his bow out, an arrow pointed straight at the woman's chest.

Regina takes a step towards her.

Ice explodes from the girl's hands, snapping Robin's arrow in half. And she runs.

Robin makes to run after her when hears a moan beside him.

"Regina!" He looks down, and there's a trail of blood on her ankle, a shard of quickly melting ice shining grotesquely against her skin. He lunges for her just as she begins to stumble, and lowers her to the ground.

She realizes she's wrapped a hand around his wrist, and drops it like it's fire.

"We should get back," Regina says, trying to stand. She fails. The wound is not large, but it is deep, and it is bleeding enough to worry him.

"Milady, let me dress your wound first. Please. You'll be no use to anyone until I do."

She can't decide whether to be grateful for his use of the title, or hurt. "Am I of any use to anyone right now?" she demands.

Robin flinches but ignores her, instead dropping his bow on to the ground and pulling out salve, cleaning solution, and bandages from his pack.

"No." She shakes her head. "You don't need to."

He ignores her protestations, and gently slides her shoe off.

She hisses in pain, and hates herself a little for not explaining that she could just heal it with magic. If he knew, he would probably say she was being reckless in not trying to help herself. Maybe he'd be right. She puts her hands on the ground behind her and shifts her weight to them, biting her lip to keep quiet.

He takes a knife out of his pocket and cuts the fabric of the wool socks she'd worn to protect herself against the unexpected winter until it falls off her skin. The cool air soothes the wound, but she can't help herself from thinking about the last time he'd trailed his palm along her calves to remove clothes. Her cheeks burn and she knows she needs to talk about something else.

"She's scared. She feels trapped, but not by us."

"The Ice Queen?" he asks, setting to work with the cleaning solution.

"Yes." Her fingers clench into the dirt at the liquid's sting, but she stays silent.

He glances at her face. "How do you know?"

"Because I _was_ her, once. When I was young." Robin's eyes search hers for an infinite moment before he lowers them back to his task. She doesn't know if she wants him to look back at her or not.

He opens the jar of salve and starts to dab it onto the wound, and notes with relief that it looks much better now that the blood's been cleaned off. Without thinking it through, he eases his hand onto her leg, above the wound, and runs his fingers gently back and forth in a gesture of comfort.

When he looks up, her gaze is inscrutable.

"Some days, I wish I had never met you," she confesses in a whisper.

"I wish you wouldn't," he sighs.

She tilts her head to the side, and he can see her fight to look unaffected. "Why?"

He looks back at her ankle before the eye contact drags away all of his self-control, and busies himself with wrapping a bandage around her ankle. "Because I don't."

She bristles. "You have no right," she cries, and she hates how wonderful it feels that he's touching her, how the fact that he's not done bandaging isn't the real reason she won't push him away.

"I know," he whispers, so softly she can barely make it out. He ties the bandage, his work complete, but his thumb lingers against her ankle. "My heart doesn't seem to care about that very much." He knows it's a selfish thing to say.

She gapes at him. "Don't you dare."

It's as though he can see the layers of hostility she'd built around her battered heart stitch themselves back together, and it's that armor, not her heart, that's stronger than ever. She's not letting anything through, and it's his fault.

He grits his teeth in anger at himself, at her past, at everything that's beat this woman down every day of her life, and it isn't until he hears a gasp of pain that he realizes his hand had tightened around her ankle.

"You're hurting me," she grits out. He loosens his hold immediately, horrified.

Impulsively, he lowers his lips to the bandage, and gently presses his lips against it.

She flinches back.

"I'm sorry." He meets her terrified eyes, and shifts away from her. "That was unpardonably wrong of me." But he looks into her face, and secretly hopes it wasn't.

"Let's…" she sucks in a breath. "Let's go back."

"Do you need—?"

"I'm fine," she snaps back, and he thinks that if he could put his hand against her chest, he would feel the iron that's formed around her heart.

He wants to help her, wants to offer an arm around her waist or a shoulder to lean on, but he's done enough damage, so he lets her push herself off the ground, pick up her discarded shoe, and begin to limp back through the forest ahead of him.

His hand still burns with warmth where he'd touched her.


	3. Regina's Nightmare

_I wrote most of this pre-finale, and adjusted it to what happened. (aka added angst and sad) I have to credit askyourqueen for two posts, which helped me work through how to deal with this._

Regina's Dream

_The feeling is, in many ways, familiar. She's standing, facing her enemy with a snarl on her face and bitterness in her heart. This time, though, there's also a distinct veil of panic, of an inability to catch her breath._

_She notices with a start that Robin's there, and she calls to him, too softly at first for him to hear, his name a whisper on her lips. Then suddenly he's being pushed away from her, and her mother is taking his place before her. She hears a horse whinny and stomp, making her aware for the first time that they are in the stables._

_"__Love is weakness!" her mother snarls, and Regina, gasps, now thrown into complete panic._

_"__No!" she cries, as her mother puts a hand on Robin's chest. "No! Don't, please," she begs._

_Cora's nose turns up in disgust. She turns back abruptly towards her daughter, and the thought passes through Regina's mind that Robin isn't struggling to get away._

_"__I don't need to," Cora bites out. "I never will. You'll destroy your own happiness; you always do. He can never love you! How could you think he would? Evil is made, my dear, and you, thanks to your own work, are evil."_

_She's calling Robin's name again, and he's ignoring her, as though she's invisible, doesn't exist, and Rumplestiltskin's voice echoes in her head, a taunting cackle, "Evil isn't born, dearie, dearie, dearie…"_

Regina wakes with a start, her heart hammering in her chest, and she remembers that for the first night in weeks, it's in her chest.

In a world where fate has its way, a warm arm is wrapped around her stomach, and she's frozen beneath it, her heart still pounding, the panic blurring her vision. For a moment, she imagines herself rising silently and leaving him. But she's seen and heard enough this week to know that's exactly what her mother would want, and her pride and defiance of everything Cora stood for makes her stay and try to reign in her fear and her heartbeat.

She turns the arm that's on her stomach to run her fingers along the lion tattoo that in many ways is a more painful reminder than the dream—but it also reminds her that no matter how painful it is, she's making the right choice.

It startles her when she glances over and warm blue eyes stare into hers.

He doesn't say anything, just lets her breathe, and if he notices that the hand on his arm is shaking, he doesn't let on.

He lifts himself on one shoulder to press a kiss to her wrist, and frowns when he feels her pulse there. "You're heart's racing, Regina," he says in a low rumble, his voice rough with sleep.

He meets her eyes, sees the moisture of unshed tears shining in them, and remembers the same expression from their afternoon in front of the fireplace.

He engulfs her in an embrace, pulling her head into his neck and pressing her against his chest until there's hardly any space between them. One hand runs through her hair and strokes her back as her heart rate comes down. He doesn't ask her to explain.

"I though having my heart back in my body would feel better than this," she finally whispers.

He thinks of the moment she'd helped him push her heart back into place, of the look in her eyes that had made his head spin. He thinks of the way her fingers clenched around his as they made love in front of the fire this afternoon, of the way she'd gasped and pulled him closer, of the way her leg wrapped around his, of the passionate frenzy of the first time in front of the fireplace, and the comfortable and giggling ease when they moved to her bed for a second, of her moans as he touched and kissed every inch of her body, of his when she did the same. He frowns. "It did, didn't it? Feel better. At least…before."

After a moment, she nods into his shoulder.

"Good," she can feel his smirk against her collarbone, "I didn't think I was that bad in bed."

She swats his arm in retaliation and pulls back a little, but he sees with relief the smile growing on her face.

He presses slow and deliberate kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and rests their foreheads together. His hand comes up to run through her hair again.

"I want to tell you," she whispers, "but I…"

She sighs and pulls out of their embrace, slipping out of bed. He watches her go, holds her hand until it's out of reach, but doesn't object. She pulls his shirt on as she goes, and he feels a rush of warmth that it comforts her to take something of him with her.

She looks out the window, her arms tight around her chest, and he wonders, not for the first time, how the world could have been so cruel to such an exquisite person.

"I don't think the dark, embittered corners of my heart have quite figured out what you see in them. What I've done—" She cuts herself off. "Don't say you don't care. You do. You should. You must. Sometimes I wonder if Daniel had seen me when I cast the curse…if he still could've love me. I don't think so. I'd become a monster." Her voice at first is angry and disgusted, then turns soft and cracking.

He aches to get up and hold her, but he knows her well enough to know it isn't the right way to help, at least not yet.

"Your dream?" he asks, because he can guess the gist, but she hasn't really explained.

She shakes her head, still facing away from him. "Don't worry about it." It would be too much, she thinks, to explain to him how much she fears that he'll realize he's living in a nightmare with her, wake up, and run far, far away from the Evil Queen.

_Screw giving her space_ he thinks, and he walks to the window in two strides and pulls her into his arms. She fights half-heartedly, and then not at all. "I know who you were," he tells her, "I've known since I met you."

"Hearing stories is one thing; I _remember_ them," she whispers into his chest. "You would hate me if you did, too."

"I wouldn't."

She shakes her head almost violently. "You would."

He lifts her head so that he can meet her eyes, his hands cupping her jaw. "I _wouldn't._"

She may not believe him now, he thinks, but in this world where fate has its way her soulmate swears to himself that he will tell her until she does. He strokes his thumb against her cheek. "You'll believe me, someday."

She shakes her head to disagree, but deep within her heart she thinks there are worse things than him trying to convince her, and maybe, just maybe, someday, he'll succeed.

This was how it was supposed to happen.

The way it really happens is this.

Regina's nightmare.

She wakes with a start, her heart hammering in her chest, and she remembers that for the first night in weeks, it's in her chest.

Her own arm is clenched around her stomach, and she's frozen, her heart pounding, the panic blurring her vision. And she remembers, remembers his face when he said _Marian? _remembers Roland running to his mama, remembers stumbling home from the diner and falling into bed. She looks at the clock. Three am. She's been asleep less than an hour. She turns over and feels the ghost of his arms holding her in this bed just this afternoon, hears the echoes of his moans as she ran her lips and teeth and tongue against the wrist with the lion tattoo, and he finally understood what it meant to them.

Her heartbeat absolutely refuses to slow, the terror of the dream and her grief contributing to its rapid cadence. His scent lingers on her sheets, and she slips out of bed in an attempt to avoid it. The Queen stares blankly out of the window, her arms tight around her chest. She only realizes she's been crying when a tear drops onto her wrist.

_You will destroy your own happiness. He can never love you. _The words deafen all other sounds, and she thinks the Cora of her dreams was right. He was always going to find out something so horrible about her past that he couldn't love her. Evil is made, and it made her a monster.

She likes to imagine Robin would disagree with her, would tell her she's not who she was, but he's not here, is he? And it's not just that he now never will be, but also that he's learned something about her past he'll never be able to forgive, he's experienced firsthand what the Evil Queen did to the lives of people like him, and if he wasn't already gone forever, that would've been the last nail in the proverbial coffin of their doomed relationship. He would've found out eventually, and, just as she's feared since the day she saw his tattoo in the cabin, he would've come to hate her. She's missed her chance with him, and she's spoiled too many second chances for this one to count.

It's a depressing thought, but she refuses to let tears fall at it. Because, she thinks, was there ever a world where it could've gone any other way?


	4. Insecurities

_Based on__ this post__ about Regina's insecurities, and __this post__ in response. _**_Regina thinks that she loves people much more than they love her. _**_Somewhat more M-rated than my stuff usually is, but nothing graphic. _

"Mmph," Robin groans, collapsing on the mattress beside her.

"Eloquent," she compliments with a raised eyebrow, turning on her side to tangle a leg between his and lay her head on his chest.

"In case you haven't noticed," he threads a hand in her hair, runs it along her neck and collarbone, over her breast and down to her hip as she shivers, "you tend to momentarily rob me of coherent speech."

Her head rises and falls with his breaths as her hand skims over his chest. "Rob you? And I thought _you_ were the thief."

She knows he's smirking now, though she cannot see it, and it is always her personal mission in bed to keep him from smirking for long. She turns her lips into his skin, runs them up a few inches, then kisses a trail back down, and she smiles in satisfaction when his breath catches. "Only momentarily, then?" she hums.

Before she realizes what's happening, he flips over so that he is above her again, and fuses their mouths together. She groans as his tongue slides into her mouth and his hand flexes against her hip. "I guess not," she rasps, and the words trail off into a whimper as his tongue flicks at the shell of her ear and his hand tugs at her thigh to bring her leg around his hip. Her hand grabs at the back of his neck, her fingers twisting into his hair, and he growls into her ear as she tugs roughly. She chuckles, drags his mouth back to hers, and grins into the kiss when she lifts her hips and he hisses in pleasure.

She settles back on the bed before he can kiss her again or hold every line of their bodies together. Teasing only ever serves to make him more determined to have her writhing and gasping out his name, and she likes him determined. "A Queen does sometimes expect coherent speech to woo her," she says, her voice low and gravelly.

"Well then," he rocks his hips into hers, and she whines as her hands scrabble at his hips to pull him close before she can stop them, "perhaps I'll just have to make the Queen incoherent, too." His mouth chases hers. She smirks and turns her head at the last moment just enough that his lips meet the side of her mouth instead, "You're impossible," he gasps.

Her tongue catches between her teeth as she smirks up at him. "But you love me."

His face softens, becomes tender as he brushes his nose against her cheek. "Mhm, you know you can get away with anything when you put it like that."

Her hands tug again at his hair, sliding up until she's mussed nearly every inch of it. "I love you, Robin," she whispers. She always whispers it, as though the universe will retaliate if it hears her. He lands a gentle kiss to her temple. "I love you," he says, his throat thick; they don't say it often. There's a startling intensity to looking at each other at moments like this, open, naked in more ways than one. He feels so blessed to be the person she's let in, to get to see this side of her, to feel embraced not only by her arms but by the warmth in her eyes and the smiling quirk of her lips, and Gods he loves her, it wells up in him at times like this so strong he can forget to breathe, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can catch them.

"Marry me?"

Her head flops back onto the pillows. "What?"

He pulls back a little until his weight rests on his elbows, bumps their noses together, stares into her eyes, and he's thought about this before, but never has the nerve to say it. "Marry me."

He's taken aback as fear flickers into her expression, and then vanishes as she closes herself off from him. Hands shove at his waist until he rolls off of her. He feels cold and abandoned watching her throw his discarded shirt almost violently out of the way to reach her clothes. She yanks a robe around her body and ties it tight, as if she cannot bear for him to see her unclothed right now, as if she had not come with him inside of her, crying out his name not ten minutes earlier, as if they were not on their way to another round of mind-blowing sex before his heart overtook his head.

"Regina," he calls, when the shock has worn off enough to leave him with the power of speech. "Regina, wait."

Her shoulders tighten, but still she walks quickly out of the room.

He stumbles out of bed after her, nearly tripping as he pulls his pants on while walking and swipes his shirt from the ground, buttoning it as he follows her down the stairs.

Robin finds her in the kitchen. All of her clothes are back on, completely free of wrinkles, her hair no longer mussed, and she's busy making herself a cup of tea, her face blank and unyielding.

He leans against the counter quietly, and he knows she can sense his presence; he'll give her a moment. She sets a mug on the granite counter, rips open a teabag, drops it in the cup, all without acknowledging that he's there.

"Would you make me some, too?" he asks.

She shoots him a brief glance, too brief for him to read, but her hand reaches back up into the cabinet and a second mug and teabag join hers.

"Thank you."

She does not reply, grips the counter opposite him with both hands and stares at the stovetop. He holds onto the counter behind him and stares at her back.

The whistling of the tea kettle breaks the complete still and silence a few minutes later. When she hands him his tea, he catches her fingers, warm from holding the mug. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head, her features still impassive, and pulls her hand out of his.

He turns to set his mug on the counter behind him, then faces her once more. "That clearly wasn't nothing."

"Robin," she sighs.

"Do you not want to marry me?"

The air between them nearly buzzes with the tension.

"You don't have to, you know, I just thought—I hadn't planned to say it, or anything." He looks at the ground. "I'm sorry."

He looks up in time to see the hurt on her face, but misses the hope that had been peeking through.

Robin sighs. "Would it really be so terrible?" He tries to grasp her hands so that he can pull her to him, and she will not let him. "Marrying someone who loves you?"

She looks frightened again, and he grabs at her hand more insistently this time.

"You don't really want to marry me. You don't want to be stuck with me," she scoffs.

"That's ridiculous, and you know it."He takes a step towards her. "I'm not going anywhere, Regina. Never."

"Aren't you? As if you've never done that before." She moves towards him until she's all but spitting the words in his face.

"You know that isn't fair, Regina," and he's angry now, anger so deep his voice goes low and dangerous rather than loud, "We swore we wouldn't bring that up when we fought!"

"Well then I guess _I've_ broken a promise to _you_ as well. It feels wonderful, doesn't it? When you trust someone and they break your heart."

"Regina!" he yells, his hand still around her wrist, and she yanks it free, hears his gasp as she twists his wrist at a sharp angle. He doesn't know how the bliss of this morning has dissolved into hurling the most malicious things they can think of at each other like weapons. His eyes search hers, struggling to find some clue as to the real source of her pain.

"Will you please stop treating me like I would run the first chance I got? I asked because I love you."

The anger seems to bleed right out of her, leaving resigned agony in its wake as she backs a few steps away. He has somehow found the crux of the argument, he thinks, but he cannot imagine—

Her lips tighten as she continues, her voice harsh and bitter and a little broken, "I have _always_ loved you more than you love me."

And the anger returns. "Don't you dare," he bellows, taking a quick stride towards her. "Don't you dare say that to me."

"Say what, the truth?" she snarls coldly, the fear and hurt shuttered away again, "yes, I know how you hate it when I do that."

"How could you—how could you say that to me? How could you think that? You know that is not the truth!" He feels betrayed, has no room for anything else—as though she has taken all of his love and thrown it into his face, told him it doesn't matter.

Tears begin to cascade down her cheeks, leaving him stunned, and the anger and hurt falls away, transformed into guilt. _She actually believes it. _She gasps in a sob before it can escape, and he hates the way she looks resigned to this, as if she's always expected it to happen eventually, as if she's always known he would hurt her.

"Regina?" he breathes. He raises a tentative hand to her cheek, and she turns her face away from him. "Regina, _please,_" he sighs, and this time when he reaches for her, she lets him pull her into his chest and hides her face there. He wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders, tilting his cheek against the top of her head. "I'm sorry. I love you," he whispers. He cradles her face and ghosts his lips over her forehead. "I'm sorry you've ever doubted it. I love you so much," he breathes, a kiss to each cheek, "You are," to the point of her chin, "more beloved," to the tip of her nose. His lips chase away the tears drying on her cheeks, "more precious to me," a kiss to her pulse point, and her eyes flutter shut, "than you could possibly imagine," he brushes a kiss against each eyelid, "And I promise to tell you that every hour of every day until you believe me," her hands clutch at his back as he tilts their foreheads together, "and every hour after."

She smiles tearfully, cups his jaw with both hands.

"I'm sorry, too." Her brow furrows, and she reaches for and cradles his wrist. "Did I hurt you?" she asks.

He shakes his head, but she brings the wrist to her lips anyway, slips her fingers between his. He sweeps the back of his hand against her cheek. "I asked you because I love you. I asked because I trust you so much with this," he puts their joined hands above his heart. "I didn't think through…our track record with marriage is complicated, yeah? I thought we could create something new, but I would never want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"I know."

He cradles the back of her head, and their gazes lock together for a few moments.

"The tea will be cold," she murmurs, still staring into his eyes.

He laughs softly with her. She lets out a ragged breath as he smooths hair behind her ear, kisses her forehead. "I'll make you some more, then."

She lifts a hand to caress his cheek, and the determination in her gaze startles him. "Ask me again," she breathes.

His hands freeze where they had been running up and down her back. "Are you sure? You know that I don't need anything from you except that ridiculously wonderful heart of yours."

"I know," she smiles, her determination growing, "Ask me again." He reaches up a hand to brush a tear off her cheek, lets his thumb linger there to caress her skin.

"Regina, my love," he lifts both of her hands to rest against his chest, and lets out a shaky breath as her fingers curve into him and the smile grows on her lips, "marry me?"

"Yes."

A smile begins to stretch his face until she would swear the very sun could be powered with that look. She giggles, and cannot even find it in herself to be embarrassed. He pulls her into a powerful hug, his arms as tight around her as he can make them. They kiss, a few gentle pecks that lengthen into her tongue swiping against his teeth and his teeth catching on her lips, and when she pulls back he's gaping at her.

"Speechless again?" she teases.

He smirks, runs a finger reverently against her lips. "A little." She tucks her head into his collarbone.

The insecurity may not fade completely in minutes, _he could not love me as much as I love him, _but she finally, finally believes that , in time, it will.


	5. Hands

_Just a little something; have some Roland/Regina/Robin feels._

When they find out that Zelena is gone, and that her spell has been activated, he sees the panic and hurt beneath her collected veneer. He keeps glancing at her—he needs to offer her some sort of comfort—but his hands ache to reach for her, to touch her, if only for a moment. He knows it's not the time or place, but everyone in the room _must _know that they're together. If not because he's been very obvious in the last few days (and he knows he has, and dares to think she might've been as well), Henry _had_ seen them kissing. He is a young man, a boy with a boy's belief in the simplicity of happiness, and he's no doubt told the others with excitement that his mom is dating Robin Hood. Ah, well. He doesn't mind, not at all (she thinks he should, he knows, but he doesn't, nobody can make him feel shame for his feelings for the woman formerly knowns as the Evil Queen, not even that woman herself), but he wonders sometimes if she does mind the idea that people may know. What she's told him today about her first love makes it even clearer why openness scares her.

So he settles for stepping closer to her, close in case she needs him, but never possessive or patronizing or even really protective because everyone in the room also knows that she can (at least physically) handle herself just fine alone.

She puts a hand on her hip as she's talking, slides it almost behind her back, and he makes a sudden decision. A way to appease both of their desires. He threads his fingers between hers, behind her back, where it will remain their secret.

He has to hand it to her, she doesn't even flinch. But he flatters himself he isn't imagining it when her shoulders relax a little and she takes a deeper breath. She doesn't pull away.

Later, when they're on their way to the diner, he holds his hand out to her on her doorstep. It's her decision, to be open with everyone or not, he'll let her do what she wants, what makes her comfortable, and he wonders when, _if_ it's ever been her decision to be open about a relationship or not.

She looks down at his hand, and, to his momentary surprise, takes it without hesitation, offering him a wide smile that reaches across her face and deep into her eyes. It's the bravest thing she's done all day, he thinks, besides telling him about the tattoo. She's admitting to her vulnerability, that she's grown attached, and that's the strongest word he'll presume to use yet, but he knows it's not the right one, there's one stronger and more apt.

They hold hands for about five seconds before chubby hands start to pull ineffectually at Robin's thumb, trying to remove it from Regina's hand. "Papa," Roland sighs, exasperated, "I get to hold 'Gina's hand!" he demands, and his little boy had asked after her when he'd remembered where he'd gotten the favorite stuffed toy he's been toting everywhere in Storybrooke. Regina laughs a delighted laugh, her head thrown back, and he's mesmerized by the way the light of the setting sun throws patterns against the line of her neck, and the crinkles next to her eyes. She opens her hand to the boy, and Robin thinks that however pleasurable it was to hold her hand in his own, this is infinitely sweeter, his little boy taking a shine to her.

Robin smiles at Regina's surprise when Roland has to drop one of their hands in order to hold his ice cream, and he chooses to drop his papa's rather than hers.

"I like holding 'Gina's hand, Papa!" Roland declares, when Robin asks if he hadn't perhaps better hold the ice cream cone with two hands.

Robin can sympathize, he really can. "Me too, my boy, me too." And as they walk to the diner, their hands all joined, Roland licking at his ice cream and Regina smiling _that smile_, he feels blessed she's decided to share the privilege with them both.


	6. Your Majesty

**Inspired by a tumblr post I made about Robin calling Regina by her title rather than her name in Season 4. Angst fest. Disclaimer: less edited/polished than my longer fic. Please leave a review!**

* * *

As the temperature drops in Storybrooke, Regina, Snow, and Charming call a meeting at Granny's to discuss the situation. When Robin arrives, he ends up just behind Regina as he prepares his bow and arrow.  
"What is it?" he asks. She's so still, she knows it's unlike her, but what truly gets to her is the total nonchalance of the question, as he goes about the business of stringing a bow and checking his arrows for imperfections. He has asked that question before, but not like this, never like this, his concern for her has never been about polite and empty chatter.  
She looks up, and for a second she knows the horror and heartbreak shine in her eyes. It feels like the version of herself she'd been with him never existed. He's acting like he'd never seen it, never seen her, he's distancing himself from that woman, that person, denying her very existence.

"Nothing, Outlaw," she bites out, "get back to your work," and she sweeps past him, calling the group to the meeting.

* * *

Robin nods once at Regina as the meeting concludes. "Your Majesty," he says, sweeping past has without a second glance. Regina turns to face him, stunned, and Snow, beside her, follows her gaze.  
Regina's shoulders crumple, her elbow digging into her stomach as she uses her arms to try to hold herself together, and Snow's heart goes out to the woman as she stares after the man she loves, any response dead on her lips. The same lips that had kissed Robin's, and he has forgotten, but she has not. Regina clamps down her reaction, and runs, hurries out the door, not bothering with her coat. The door rattles as it slams shut behind her.

* * *

Snow catches up with her about halfway to her home, just at the edge of Storybrooke's Main Street.  
"Go away," Regina growls when she feels Snow's presence.  
"No."  
"Go away, Snow."  
Regina has stopped walking, and Snow takes a step closer. "I'm not going anywhere."  
Regina whips around then, and tears, so many tears shine in her eyes. Snow reaches her arms out, drags Regina to her for a hug, and though Regina's arms push back a little she ultimately allows it. It shocks Snow, she's crying, audibly, in front of her. It's been barely a few days since Emma and Hook and Marian's return, but Snow begins to understand how suddenly removed from human contact Regina must have been, how much she needs somebody to come find her, to chase after her.  
Snow lets her go, and she's learned enough not to make a big deal about Regina's openness, but the woman's still crying with days of pent up despair and she has to know, "Has he done that before? Called you..."  
Regina takes a ragged breath through quiet tears. "No." Regina's arms still grip her stomach as if to hold herself back, to punish herself for her reaction. "Once more," she relents, "when I ran into them at the store."  
"Regina," Snow sighs.  
Their eyes meet then. "It's like I never existed for him," Regina whispers. _My fault _she thinks _I'm the one who always told him to call me Your Majesty in the Enchanted Forest. I'm the one who pushes people away with cruelty, and why should he be any different?_ She grits her teeth. "I am such a fool. Perhaps I imagined it to be more than it was."  
Snow shakes her head immediately, reaching for Regina's hand and thinking better of it. "No, you didn't. We all saw you, Regina, you didn't imagine anything, and you're not a fool."  
Tears begin to slip down Regina's cheeks again. "I want to be alone," she asks, her voice low and gravelly, "please."

Snow's brow knits together, and for a moment Regina fears she will see pity, but it does not come. "All right." Snow vows to herself she will visit more, will bring Henry and perhaps Neal. Robin may be pushing away the woman he fell in love with (they are so alike, Snow thinks, Robin and Regina, they both push and push and push when they're hurting) and somewhere inside of her Snow understands because she's done it herself by taking that memory potion when she and Charming could not be together, but she will not let Regina forget that others know her as Regina and not the Queen. "But you're not. You're not alone."

* * *

Henry stays with her that night; Snow sends him with a kiss to the forehead and a brief, "she's had a rough day."

"Mom?" he says when she answers the door, her eyes red. And as he hugs her, she thinks Mom is the best name she's ever had, and the only one that matters. Others have seen the person behind the title, she believes that, and _he _is not going to take that away from her.

* * *

When Robin returns to the diner in the morning, he approaches Snow as she sits with David and Neal in one of the booths. "Please allow me to go and apologize," he begs, and there are tears shining in his eyes, too.  
Snow and David share a look, and she cannot help being the tiniest bit brutal with him. "For what? You can break her heart or not, but she's certain you're gone for good anyway, Robin. You don't need to lord it over her like a joke."  
At least he looks properly horrified at the idea, and he rushes to tell her, "That's not what I'm—It isn't a joke to me, I swear it's not." But Snow is right, he's being horridly selfish, trying to fool himself into feeling distant from her, and she is being selfless, letting him go, but he's not blind and he's seen how much it's been hurting her.  
David takes a breath, "You do understand you're making her feel like it wasn't real, like she just imagined the weeks where she was the happiest she's been in half a lifetime?"

"I-" there is nothing for him to say. It seems to Snow that in his own suffering, he has tried to forget how much it would hurt Regina, too. He looks tortured, and Snow feels a jolt of sympathy for him, he's in an impossible situation.

"Talk to her, then, we can't stop you. But please don't make it worse than it already is."

* * *

Regina starts at the knock on her door.  
"You left your coat, Regina," he says lamely when the door swings open, offering the garment up to her. She stiffens, holds her shoulders high, lets her eyes cloud over with indifference, and she can do it to him, too.  
"I am your Queen, Outlaw, and you will do well not to address me in such a casual manner."  
She ignores the offered coat, turns on her heel and goes to shut the door in his face. He catches her hand, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Regina, _please._"

She spins harshly to face him, ripping her hand away. Something in his eyes gives her pause.

"I know it's easier," she begins, looking at the ground. "I know it's easier, to be cold when you're hurting, believe me, I know." She meets his eyes then, and they are angry, strong, desperate, broken. "But I never thought that _you _would do that to me." She shakes her head. "I suppose it's only fair."

"No, no no no it's not, Regina, it's not fair, I should _never _have—_no one _has the right to treat you like that, least of all me, I—" He takes her hand again. This time she lets him, and as his hand warms hers the frigid air becomes more noticeable against her simple clothes (not his skin on hers, she tells herself, it is not that that is making her feel weak) and she shivers. He lifts her coat off his arm and drapes it around her shoulders, tugging it around her at her neck.

"I need time, Regina, and it is not fair to ask you for that, I know, but please, please know that I have not forgotten. I do not think that it was nothing, it was _not _nothing to me." His hands finally leave her, and she replaces them with her own, pulling the coat around her. She brushes the tear on her cheek away angrily. He reaches out a hand to help her without thinking about it, and she freezes as their hands brush. "I swore to myself I'd be the one person to never make you feel like this," he sighs.

She takes a breath. "Go home, Robin."

"But I—"

She lifts a shaky hand to his face. "If time is what you need, then you have it. Go home. Figure out what it is you want." She takes another breath, and it hurts to say it but it's what he needs to hear, "And until you do, stay away from me."

He bites his lip, nods, brushes his thumb against her cheek once more, and finally pulls away. They both feel the loss.

"Regina," he breathes before he turns away, just her name. She has never been anyone else to him, and she never will be.


	7. Devastation

Mildly spoilery for S4, based on a BTS photo of Regina. I apologize for the angst of this one. It hurts.

Long strides, back straight, balanced on her heels, she will look poised to anyone who watches her walk away (She doesn't. Not to him, she doesn't. He knows her too well.) Her hands may one day have balled into fists, but she cannot now force them to do anything but hang limply at her sides, the hands that had tugged at his waist minutes before everything turned to ashes, the hands he'd cradled against his chest as he said "use mine for the both of us", the hands that waved off the plaintive cries of his wife as Regina sent her to her death. The hands he will never bear to touch again, they feel like weights that pull and pull until her shoulders slump forward.

She watches her feet take each step, and for a moment she hates her body. This worthless, mortal, human form that holds nothing but a dark and worthless heart and a tortured soul that has lost, has _destroyed _its mate.

He'd followed her out, and for a moment some treacherous part of her soul had ignited with hope, but she hates that part of her even more than she hates the darkness. That part of her is the reason she let this _thing _between them happen in the first place, it's the reason she always ends up heartbroken in the end. She should never have tried.

Her chin wobbles and she clamps her teeth shut to stop it, _a monster_, his wife had called her, she'd been right, and monsters do not cry. Self pity is unacceptable, self pity will not do, _this _is what she deserves, watching Marian grab Roland as if he needs protection from Regina, listening to an expression of the horror everyone else in Storybrooke must have been feeling for weeks, that someone so _good _could possibly be involved with someone like her. She would snatch her own son away from herself if she were not so selfish.

When she reaches her mansion (not home, home implies love and family, things she was never meant for) she allows herself a moment, just a moment, to place a flat palm on the wall of her foyer and breathe. A moment becomes two, three, ten, an hour, minutes pass as she rests her forehead against the cold wall and tries to find that within her, cold and flat and emptiness, but it filled up long ago.

An hour becomes two before the anger breaks her, anger at her life, at him, she loves him, and he had_ promised _her—but most of all anger at herself for letting this happen. _For making this happen _she corrects herself. She's done with all of it, loving and trusting and believing because _I just never thought I'd have this, _and she doesn't , didn't, she never should have presumed.

She takes determined steps up the stairs, rips off her heels, scarf, and jacket, considers throwing them to the ground, out the window, puts them away angrily instead. Her nightly routine, alone, she has done this for thirty years, and she will do it for thirty more, or however long she has left to suffer in this miserable world, because no matter how much it beats her down, no matter how many times she comes to the brink of falling she always picks herself back up because that same treacherous and hateful part of her that believed (believes, God, how can it, but it does) in love desires to live.

Regina pushes her bedroom door open, pulls out her earrings, flips the light switch angrily, and that's when she sees them, and remembers, the wrinkled, rumpled sheets and a pair of indented feather pillows. _We'll get them later _he'd said as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. She hadn't needed to turn to see it, but there it was when she did, his goofy grin and exaggerated wink, and her scowl had lasted for perhaps a second before it, too, melted into a grin.

Regina rips the sheets off of the bed angrily, nearly chokes on the scent of pine and damp, lifts her right hand with a ball of fire burning at its center, and incinerates the lot of them. She will sleep elsewhere tonight. (She will not sleep tonight.) _She must sleep tonight. _This is what she deserves, what always happens, what should happen, what was meant to happen. There should be nothing to upset her.

(There is everything to upset her. She is devastated.)


End file.
